


Don't Eat the Cheese in Orzammar

by middlemarchingfic



Series: Codices [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:24:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5418710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarchingfic/pseuds/middlemarchingfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Something's missing," Hawke slurred, half-slouched from too much drink against Anders's side at their table in the tavern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Eat the Cheese in Orzammar

**Author's Note:**

> One of a small number of Dragon Age 2 prompt responses I'm reposting from the now-retired LJ community likeahawke I ran back in 2011 to 2012 or so. I'll probably turn these into a series at some stage.
> 
> (This work is slightly edited from when it was initially posted.)

"Something's missing," Hawke slurred, half-slouched from too much drink against Anders's side at their table in the tavern. She pointed a finger at the great wealth of food spread out before them on the table. "I count Mondseer, Nevarran grey, Orlesian bleu, Formaela, Queso Fresco, Goya, brun--brunost, and even that rancid green cheese from Seheron we picked up from the merchant outside Seere who claimed it was aged for three years in nothing but water distilled from the Arishok's piss."

"I think he was having you on," Anders mumbled through a slow yawn and stretched a hand languorously towards the bottle of wine resting just out of reach.

"Possibly," Hawke admitted, her black eyebrows dipped in a befuddled furrow. "Nonetheless, we've got everything else. Why's there no fine dwarven cheese?"

"Well, you know the old saying," Varric drawled and leaned forward as carefully as the copious amounts of wine in his veins would allow him to. He plucked up the bottle and topped off Hawke's goblet, then Anders's. "’Fix the Provings, bed the women, roast the nugs and kick the casteless--but by the Paragons, don't eat the cheese in Orzammar.'"

The pair of soused apostates in front of him snickered between themselves, which seemed like the right thing to do, before frowning. They exchanged cautious glances, then looked back at Varric. "...why not?" Anders asked at length.

“Just trust to the age old wisdom of my pithy wit, Blondie, and don’t ask me to clarify.”

“Come on, Varric,” Hawke whined, petulant as Carver on a bad day. “You can’t leave us hanging like that.”

“All right,” Varric said heavily, “but I warned you.” He gathered up his goblet, took a leisurely draw from it, and then sighed, satisfied. “We acquire it from the musk gland excretions of deepstalkers.”

Hawke gagged and covered her mouth. Anders patted her back and shot Varric a dirty look. “Now you’re having us on. That’s just foul.”

“During mating season,” Varric added, and ducked the goblet Hawke chucked at his head.


End file.
